Conception
by Francienyc
Summary: Helen Pevensie muses about the circumstances that brought her children into the world.
1. 1 The Knight

_The Knight_

_I get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and as always, I check on the children to make sure they are asleep. Edmund is breathing noisily in his cot, just like his father in the bed across the hall, but Peter's bed is empty. I frown and listen, and I hear the soft whisper of his lisping voice. I follow it next door and see Peter sitting on the floor by Susan's bed, talking his way through a picture book. Susan is still asleep, lying on her back, but her hand is resting on his golden hair. I pause in the doorway and listen to the story Peter is inventing, being unable to read the large storybook yet._

_"…The Princess was in a lot of trouble and she was very sad. But the Prince did not want her to be sad and he said 'I'll rescue you!' Then he fought to get to her." He consults the pictures, lifting the book to his face. "There were a lot of branches. He cut them with his sword. And he saw a bad witch but he said…" He gasps and shakes his head. "He said 'No! You won't hurt my Princess!' and he beat her and won. So she was safe." He pauses and smiles a little bit as he invents. "She was very happy and she stayed in the castle and took care of the babies all day, just like she always wanted."_

_I smile at his coda; I know he invented that just for Susan's benefit. Whenever we read stories she always wants to know what happens after, if the Prince and Princess had children and what were their names, and were the babies as sweet as Lucy? Peter is more preoccupied with the adventure, and he'll relive it for hours. I peer closer and see that somehow he has gotten hold of the big leather-bound storybook from downstairs and is looking at the pictures from Sleeping Beauty, his favorite story. "Peter?" I call softly._

_He turns to me with his mouth hanging open, his cheek dusky pink. "Mummy! You're awake."_

_"What are you doing in here?" I ask quietly._

_He rubs his eye quickly, as though he does not want me to see him cry. "I had a bad dream," he confesses, his little voice growly. _

_I sit down on the foot of the bed and open my arms to him. He shuts the book and puts it aside, coming to crawl into my lap. Both he and Edmund usually shy away from this during the daytime because of David's preaching about what big boys do. In the middle of the night, though, my boys are softer, more open with their baby sweetness. I cuddle Peter, resting my cheek on his bright hair and murmur, "I didn't hear you crying."_

_"Big boys don't cry," he informs me. "Daddy said." He clutches at my nightdress and looks up at me with a sudden gasp. "Mummy, don't make me go back to bed. I want to stay with Susan."_

_I stroke his hair and kiss it. "Alright. We'll stay," I agree, even though I know David won't really approve. _

_Poor Peter gives a heavy sigh and rests his cheek on my shoulder, watching Susan. She half wakes and sees me there in the thin light of the lamp we leave on for her. "Mummy," she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. She wriggles around in the bed so she can lay her head in my lap. Peter watches her too, and he leans over to stroke her hair. "Go to sleep, Susan."_

_My heart swells as I watch him. He is so small still, but there is something about Peter that is strong. Noble. He sees it as his especial mission to watch out for all his siblings, but most of all Susan. David told me how when he took Peter out to spend his pocket money, Peter insisted on buying something for Susan and was adamant about getting the prettiest thing they had. He always takes the blame when they get into trouble. In return, he gets her unending devotion, her beaming face, her confiding little hand slipping into his. They were inseparable from the moment Susan was born—they are conspirators, best friends, playmates. Constant companions. He works so hard at being a big boy to take care of Susan and make his father proud. I kiss his shining golden hair and cradle him to my chest, which makes him smile a little bit. Somehow this ordinary boy from Finchley has a streak of the noble knight in him. I hardly know how…no, I do know. I cuddle my little knight and I think. I can remember the night that brought him to us._

David and I had been married for half a year or so, long enough that I was well used to my new housewifely routine of shopping and cleaning and cooking. I had started making friends on the street, and when we met at the shops there would be cheerful daily gossip. I never joined in with any, not having any gossip to spill, but I always listened about the deaths and minor scandals and family intrigues. I reported the most interesting to David, who always patted my hand and chuckled with amusement and say "I see you've had a busy day, my dear."

One morning I joined the group of women at the corner, noting that they were speaking not with the delicious relish of tasting good gossip. They were speaking in hushed voices, and their expressions were very sober. I hoisted the shopping bag on my hip, and they widened the circle for me.

"…And her just a slip of a thing, barely older than Helen here."

"It's a shame is what it is. I've never been one of those suffragettes, but I tell you, something like this is enough to make me change my mind."

"A woman has a right to feel safe in her own home."

I looked around at the frowning faces with concern. "What's happened?"

"Oh, Helen dear, it's awful. Violet at the end of the road was hit by her husband last night."

Enid's flowers bobbed on her hat as she nodded. "I went round this morning to borrow some tea, and there she was with a blooming black eye."

I gasped. "You're _sure_ it was her husband?"

"You don't get a black eye like that by accident," Enid said, folding her arms. "And what's more, Edward and I heard something like screaming last night."

"Right shame that is…"

I ducked away from the group. I knew Violet and liked her tremendously. Her husband was very handsome, and he worked hard like David. We often commiserated about cheering them up when they were grumpy. My heart started to pound. Was her husband's version of grumpy different from David's? I fairly ran down the street and knocked rapidly on Violet's door.

She opened after a few minutes of prolonged knocking, and she hid herself in the shadow of her house. "Oh, hello, Helen," she said morosely. "I can't really talk now. Thank you for stopping by, I'll call on you when I can." She started to close the door.

Though it was terribly rude of me, I put out a hand to stop her. "Are—are you alright?" I asked anxiously. I couldn't quite bring myself to repeat what I had heard in the street.

She peered beyond me into the street, looking like a fugitive. Then all at once she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. All at once she was sobbing and clutching at me, confessing through her tears. "It was my fault. He told me, and I didn't listen, and we had a row. After he smacked me I didn't want to that night. But he was only trying to make it up with me. I should have been a better wife. More forgiving…"

I grew pale and clutched my handbag so hard my knuckles turned white. "Did he…force you?" I whispered.

Her face crumpled and she nodded. "Oh, Helen! It was awful. It hurt so much. I should have been better. I should have…"

It was cruel of me, but I wanted to turn tail and run. I wanted to get out of that house where such terrible things could happen. George seemed as large and brutal as a monster from a fairy tale. I could hear the echoes of the bedsprings, and Violet's cries of protest. Fear started to swallow me up. Violet was crying, sobbing. I patted her shoulder and made her some tea, but that was all I could think of to do. She subsided, but I knew she wanted to talk more. I couldn't hear it. I couldn't. He hurt her. She loved him, she trusted him to take care of her, and he hurt her. I left as soon as it was even remotely proper.

All day what had happened to Violet came back to me. I tried to forget it, and I took on several tiring projects, such as washing and ironing all of David's shirts. Before I got halfway through the pile, I became terrified, surrounded by such men's things, white and fresh as those shirts were. I put everything away in a rush and ran out of the house. On the street I bit my thumbnail. I didn't know where to go. Violet crossed my mind, but I couldn't go to her. I couldn't.

In the end I walked and walked all round the neighborhood. I avoided all the men on the streets. There was a work crew building a house, and I recognized some of the boys from my old neighborhood. They called to me and I walked faster. I took refuge at last in a salon and had my nails done. I had to go home straightaway and cook David's dinner, and so they were quite ruined.

David came home in a pleasant enough mood. He talked through supper about the office and the research he was doing. I tried my best to listen attentively, but in the end I couldn't remember what he was saying. As I was pouring his tea after dinner, he covered my hand.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Helen dear. Don't you have any gossip from the day?" He smiled. "I'm quite in the mood to hear your chatter after a day of nothing but research."

I opened my mouth, but for a moment, no words would come. Finally I stammered "I—I had my nails done. I hope you don't mind the expense."

He chuckled. "Not at all, you silly thing. Let's see them then." He turned over my hands and frowned, then looked up at me with a question in his eyes.

I flickered a smile, but my heart wasn't in it. "I had to come home and make dinner. They got ruined."

He patted my hand, still smiling. "I would say that was poor planning. Next time perhaps go on your beauty jaunts in the morning, eh?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"My dear, there's nothing to be sorry for. Just be a little more practical in the future. Now, what's for dessert?"

"Lemon cake. I'll get it." I started towards the kitchen, but before I got even halfway there, I stopped and gave a little sob. That fear had crept back over me.

David jumped from his chair and came and put his arms around me. "Helen! What on earth's the matter?"

I turned and cried into his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll get the cake."

"Not before you tell me what's wrong." He folded his arms around me. "I must say this is all very strange."

I closed my hands around his shirt, and though he had been wearing it all day it was still clean and fresh smelling. My David, always crisp and clean. Always proper. I nestled closer to him and buried my face against him. Finally I murmured in a rush. "Last night, Violet's husband…he—he hurt her. He forced her. It's awful. Her face is swollen. She trusted him. He's supposed to take care of her."

David's arms tightened around me. "The cad," he growled. When I looked up, his face was thunderous. "What sort of man would do that to his wife? It's improper is what it is. What, are we meant to live like animals? I hope there's someone to give him a talking to. I have half a mind to do it myself." He looked down at me; I was still crying and wiping my eyes on his shirt. His hand came up to stroke my hair. "Now, darling, don't cry. I'm here, and I'll protect you. I'm a man who keeps his word."

I looked up into his face, and I saw from the gravity in his eyes that he meant it. Years later, I would realize that Peter wore the same look whenever he promised something. David lifted my chin and smiled down at me. "It's alright, my dear."

I let his words soothe me. I closed my eyes and swallowed, and I felt his soft kiss on my cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and wiped away my tears, and I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I trusted in him. I smiled softly. "I love you, David," I murmured.

He grunted his agreement and kissed my mouth. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders and clung to him because I knew he would protect me. "Come on," he said, kissing my cheek again. "I think it's time for bed."

I sighed and opened my eyes. "But the cake…and the washing up…"

He waved this away gallantly. "You've had a trying day, my dear. That can all keep until tomorrow. You can certainly take care of it then."

I nodded. I knew down the street Violet was walking on eggshells, but here in my flat it seemed like nothing bad could ever happen. He held me tightly round the waist, and together we went round and shut all the lights. He stood behind me while I covered the cake carefully and stroked my hair. Like a naughty child, he swiped his finger across the icing. I smacked his hand and he smiled, still sucking the icing off his finger. He looked so darling and so good I reached up to stroke his one cheek and kiss the other. "Ah yes," he murmured, catching me in an embrace. "Bedtime."

We undressed and washed up hurriedly. I didn't want to be apart from him, and I thought that he wanted to be close to protect me. He held me close in the dark, and he pressed kisses on my damp cheeks. He made not a move towards me otherwise, in case I should still be frightened. I felt the warmth of him and smelled the clean sharp smell of toothpaste on his breath, just like on our wedding night. I wanted him closer still, so he would protect me. Though it was bordering on improper, I rolled onto my back and whispered "David."

He didn't care about impropriety. "Helen," he said lowly. He leaned over me, undoing the buttons on his pyjamas. Then he kissed me. "You're safe, Helen."

I nodded, pulling him closer. "I know. I know. I love you."

The next morning before he left he pulled me close and cupped my cheek. He kissed me, lingering over his goodbye. Usually he pecked my cheek and was out the door. "Take care of yourself today," he told me. "Perhaps you should also bring Violet some of that cake. It needs to be eaten before it goes stale." He nodded, pleased with this idea. "You bring her some of that cake."

I thought this was so sweet of him to be thinking not only of me but of Violet that I welled up. Wisely, I waited until he was out the door to indulge in a few sentimental tears. I brought Violet the cake and made her another cup of tea. She didn't want to talk about it anymore; apparently she and George had made it up. I still trembled to see her bruise, though. I chattered bravely through an hour and a half, and then I went round the shops. I picked up a new silk necktie for my hero. I spent most of a month's pocket money on it, but I was happy to. I only wished I had the money for the silver cufflinks I really wanted to buy him.

I prepared David's favorite meal, and when I heard his key in the door I slipped the box with the necktie onto his plate. I grinned proudly as I stood by the table waiting for him, sure I was going to surprise him and very pleased with myself. In the end, he surprised me. He came in with a bouquet of flowers and a box in his hands.

"David!" I cried, rushing to him. He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.

He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. "I wanted to make sure you had a better day today than yesterday."

He had bought me a pair of intricately wrought silver earrings, and he beamed as I exclaimed over them. When he opened his present, he went to the mirror in the hall at once and swapped ties, declaring that the new one suited him exactly. I breached propriety again and sat not across from him, but next to him at dinner. He didn't seem to mind. He squeezed my hand and brushed my hair off my neck on the pretense of seeing my earrings. That gave me a little shiver.

"I want you to be happy as a princess," he declared.

"I am," I promised him. "I am."

We went to bed without pudding for the second night in a row.

_I have always been privately certain that's where Peter came from. Nine months later, there he was, a solemn little boy. The first night we brought Susan home from the hospital his hand closed around hers. Peter is drooping against my chest, starting to fall asleep. I kiss his hair and rock him. Though my son is fair haired and blue eyed where his father is dark, he has the same nobility. Carefully I shift Susan back onto her pillow and settle Peter next to her. Sometimes when he has a nightmare we wake to find him in Susan's bed of his own accord. If David asks, I'll tell him that is what happened. I don't like to lie to him, but Peter and Susan need each other. In sleep, Peter reaches out for Susan and his hand curls around hers. She makes a soft noise and shifts closer to him. I kiss them both one last time and creep back into my own bed, sliding between the sheets and curling up as close to David's warmth as I can._


	2. 2 The Silent Child

_The Silent Child_

_After the washing up is done I sink down in David's chair with a sigh. Even though it's been months, I can still smell his lingering scent on the chair: cigarettes and a lacing of whiskey and his crisp after shave. I close my eyes and sigh. I can almost hear him saying "Come on, old girl. The kitchen's clean. Let's go to bed." I think of going upstairs with him and kissing in the dark. I curl up in the chair and sigh a bit._

_"Alright, Mum?"_

_I open my eyes quickly. In my nostalgia, I forgot that Peter was there. I smile at him, trying to keep a mother's composure. "Yes, fine." I nod to the window. "Any sign of her?"_

_I turn out the light so Peter can peek through the blackout curtains into the dusk. After a few minutes of prolonged watching, he lets the curtain drop and rearranges it carefully, shaking his head. "Not yet."_

_I check my pang of worry and stop myself from asking what will happen if she comes home after dark, what if she gets stuck and there's a raid. I won't fuss, because I'm not going to let this war ruin everything for my children. She deserves a first date just like any other girl. Just like I had._

_Peter wanted to be the only one keeping the watch. He's been nearly as excited as Susan since it's his best friend Michael taking her out. Right now he chances another peek through the blackout curtains. "I told Michael to take her somewhere nice," he says vaguely. "I want her to have a good time."_

_"Mmm," I agree, remembering Susan's flurry to get ready. I lent her my only pair of stockings and some of my jewelry to smarten up her dress. I would have bought her a whole new one, but Edmund is growing like a weed and he needed new trousers; that took up all the clothes rations. Besides, there aren't any dresses worth having these days anyway. I sigh a bit and as I inhale I get a whiff of David again. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall._

_Eventually we hear the murmur of voices outside, and then the lock turns and Susan slips in. She tries to be subtle, but Peter bounds up from the couch. She raises her eyebrows at him as though she has no idea why he would be looking at her with suppressed excitement, and I choke back a giggle._

_"Well," Peter demands. "How was it? Was he a gentleman? I'll thrash him if he wasn't."_

_Susan shrugs nonchalantly and smiles past him to me. "Hello, Mother. I'll go put your jewelry back in your jewelry box, shall I?"_

_I nod, still trying to repress a smile at Peter's exasperation. "Yes, dear. Thank you."_

_She smiles serenely and floats upstairs while Peter trails behind her and peppers her with questions. I stand and let my hand slide over the back of David's chair. I half want to follow her myself, but I know what David would say: "Don't fuss, Helen. You make too much of them." He's right of course, and besides, a girl has a right to her own little secret romances. I remember how I used to store up the sweet little kisses David would give me and play them over in my head as I drifted off to sleep. I wander in the kitchen humming softly and make tea._

_I drink a cup, absorbed in daydream, and put on another. While I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, Susan wanders downstairs in her nightdress. I have to pause for a moment at the sight of her because right now my daughter looks so perfect. She has always been astonishingly pretty, such that people always noticed her on the street. She was so shy though that she would hide against me or shrink closer to Peter. Now she is glowing with happiness. She feels special, as any girl would do, and somehow that makes her seem a little girl and a grown woman all at once. Her pretty porcelain skin has not a single shadow of worry in this moment, and her dark hair is glossy on her shoulders. It is vain to be proud of a daughter's beauty, but I am lucky—my girl's prettiness only reflects her sweetness. "Hello my dove," I say warmly. "Do you want some tea?"_

_She nods, pulling the cuffs of her nightdress over her hands and murmurs, "Alright, Mum. Thanks."_

_I take another mug down and add a spoonful of fresh tea to the pot. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and I cannot restrain a little smile._

_"Aren't you going to ask me like Peter?" she asks when I don't say anything._

_I shake my head and turn away to pour the tea. "A girl's allowed her secrets," I say. "That's half the fun."_

_Susan takes her cup and smiles, giggling a bit. "Peter's bursting to know."_

_"I know it." I roll my eyes conspiratorially, and she laughs again. She looks happy, and she is laughing very easily. Good signs. "I expect all your young men will have to contend with him. It's lucky the first one was his mate."_

_"Yes…lucky," Susan muses. She sits down at the table, sipping her tea slowly. I think rapidly that she deserves someone who will love her as much as her father and brother do, who will think of her as a princess and take care of her. I know that she in turn with her warm heart and tender ways will be the best of wives and mothers, the joy of any man. That is what I set out to be for David. I think of the words of his last letter. He is a terrible letter writer, all stiff and with no real news. He gives more advice and instructions to the children than tender words of love. But I can read between the lines, and in his short little message to me, I know he is saying "I want to come home and be with you." So to tell him I will always be here, I write him warm effusive letters where I detail everything and tell him how much I miss him and what I will do for him when he comes home. And he writes back, "Don't waste so much paper, you soft thing," which means "I love you too."_

_Susan's voice rouses me from my thoughts. "He's very sweet. He asked if he could kiss me."_

_I raise my eyebrows and lean forward excitedly. "And?"_

_She blushes scarlet. "I said yes. That wasn't improper, was it?"_

_"Not at all," I shake my head and pat her hand. "Everyone's allowed a little goodnight kiss. Especially if you like the boy."_

_"I'd like to go out with him again," she muses, her face still rosy and happy. "I really like him, Mum. But don't tell Peter, alright? He can suffer in ignorance."_

_I laugh and nod. "I won't say a word." I watch Susan sipping her tea, flush with her first taste of romance. Somehow she looks younger than ever despite her recent growth spurt. I had to let down all the hems of her dresses a couple of weeks ago, but she doesn't look any older for it. She looks as delighted as she used to when she had a surprise as a little girl. The innocent sparkle in her eyes belies the fact that she is not a woman just yet. I watch her drink her tea and store up wishes for her. My girl is made for romance and falling in love and all sweet and good things. If I have anything to say about it, I will see that she comes to the happiest of endings, because she came from the warmest of beginnings._

David's family had always been terribly proper. My family was never much for manners; in fact, Father didn't hold with anything 'bourgeois.' I always despaired of this and tried to learn the best manners I could. When I married David, I realized that all my observation had failed to teach me several things; I found I was always making little mistakes when we went to his parents' house. I had earned his mother's respect because I was a proper wife and not some sort of modern girl who wore short skirts and wanted to go out working. Nevertheless I _would_ persist in horrid shows of manners such as smiling when my husband came into a room, or greeting people very warmly. I tried to be a credit to David, but I could never quite seem to earn his mother's approval as David's brother's wife, Eleanore, had.

The main trouble was that the Pevensies, being a stoutly middle class family, believed that every English wife should be all meek obedience and stiff propriety. Her role was a duty, not a joy. When Peter was born Mother Pevensie came to visit when I got home from the hospital and asked when we were going to engage a nanny. Even if we wanted a nanny, David's meager salary would never have allowed for it, much less a place to put her. I clutched my baby to my chest and announced proudly that I would be caring for him myself, thank you, that David and I had decided. She raised her eyebrows at this but said nothing. I am sure to her the idea of dealing with all a baby's messes was utterly repulsive.

But Peter was a good baby, but there were an awful lot of messes. I didn't mind one bit, though. I got to kiss his soft little tummy after I changed him. I was the one to lull him back to sleep after he woke sick in the night. Peter had a special smile that was reserved just for me, and I could imagine ceding any of those things to a nanny. No more could I imagine some maid ironing David's shirts to starched perfection, or some cook preparing his dinner.

In December, she issued an invitation to come and spend Christmas. I protested—I wanted Peter to spend his first Christmas at home, and I only wanted to be with my two boys. I had visions of sitting by our Christmas tree with Peter in my lap while David showed the baby the presents as they were unwrapped and smiling and shaking his head when I exclaimed over everything. David always called me over-sentimental and warned me not to fuss too much over Peter. "You'll spoil him, Helen," he warned me frequently. I always replied with "No I won't. He's too sweet." It was a sort of banter between us because I could see in his eyes the love he had for us. Every night when he came home from work he would give me his hat and his coat, and while I fixed his drink he would go and watch over Peter in his cot as he loosened his tie.

Despite the daily routine of intimacy David overruled me regarding Christmas. "She's invited us, Helen, and we've got no good reason not to go. Especially when we were at your mother's for Easter." There was nothing else left to say, especially considering David had gone to my mother's with relatively good grace, and he and Mother were always at odds. The least I could do was put up with a disapproving frown or two. So I packed up all of Peter's baby things with the best grace I could muster, noting unhappily that David seemed rather excited. Wasn't I enough for him at Christmas?

When we arrived, there was a round of cordial greetings and kisses. After taking Peter upstairs to change him, I brought him into the parlor to show him off to his grandparents. Peter grinned and waved his little stuffed bear at everyone. Mother Pevensie nodded her approval and sipped her tea, but she didn't reach for the baby or even grace him with half the enthusiasm he gave her. All she said was "Fair babies do not run in our family. He is very handsome, Helen."

I could tell from the expression on David's face that this was high praise indeed, and I glowed with pride to hear it. Considering she had never so much as nodded approval at my hairstyle, I took this as high praise. I gave Peter a smacking kiss on the cheek and murmured to him "Do you hear that? You are a very handsome boy." In reply he babbled blithely and patted my face. I chuckled and rubbed noses with him.

David coughed. "Helen's quite attached to him," he said as if explaining something that should be pardoned. I couldn't restrain giving him an odd look when not two hours before he had been so charmed by the both of us.

"Yes, well I can imagine she would be without any help," Mother Pevensie replied. Before I could open my mouth to defend David and say that I didn't need any help, she continued. "Which brings me to a little surprise I've arranged for the two of you. I'd imagine it's been awhile since you've had a solid night's sleep, so I've hired a nanny to come for a couple of days and help with the baby. As a Christmas treat."

David spoke for us. "That's very thoughtful of you, Mother. We're quite grateful."

I glanced at David and held Peter a little closer. I was torn. On the one hand an entire night's sleep seemed like a long forgotten luxury, but on the other I couldn't imagine someone else caring for Peter when he cried. David patted my arm and looked meaningfully at me, repeating "We're quite grateful." And that settled the matter.

Admittedly, the first two nights it was a treat. I had a little blip of conscience that I couldn't even hear Peter when he cried, but before I could really even have a chance to be troubled I was fast asleep.

Things were not as blissful during the day, however. Peter's every need was catered to by the supremely capable but coldly distant nanny. As for David, all my little wifely duties were taken away from me—I couldn't cater to him because they had staff to do such things. I couldn't serve him at dinner because my mother in law presided as the hostess. Moreover, David himself was different. He didn't seem to want to talk to me anymore, but expected me to withdraw with his mother and sister in law after dinner. At home, that hour was reserved for conversation, when he would tell me about the office and his research, but here he only seemed to see his father and his brother. He spoke to them in a loud, officious voice that was rather unlike him. Once, I brushed his shoulder and leaned over to tell him something about Peter, and he frowned. "Tell the maid we need a refresher on drinks, won't you?"

By Christmas night, though, the novelty of sleep had worn off and I longed to have my old family comfort back. The family adjourned to the parlor for conversation and 'aperitifs.' Everyone had a drink but me; I was only allowed a very small measure of sherry which I finished in about a swallow. I looked at David who was talking animatedly with his father, and I wished for home. I would perch on the arm of his chair while he read me the news, perhaps, or sit on the ottoman and rub his feet, which he always liked. I dared to brush his hand, and Mother called my attention away, but not before David gave me a little frown and a shake of my head.

Finally I grew so exasperated and empty feeling that I went upstairs. I thought to check on Peter, but the minute I crossed the threshold of his nursery, the nanny was out of her rocker. "He's just gone down, ma'am," she explained. "Best not to wake him."

I peered around her, trying to catch a glimpse of my sleeping son. It felt like a very long time since I had heard his gurgling giggle. As I tried to peer, though, the nanny blocked my way and raised her eyebrows. I pasted on a smile and nodded, and as there was nothing else to do, I left. I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, frowning undecidedly at them. I realized I couldn't go back to the parlor again. I was far too homesick. Instead I went and changed for bed.

I tried to get to sleep, but my exhaustion was all worn off. I could hear the vague noises of polite merriment drifting up from downstairs, and I stared into the dark room thinking of the warmth of my little home. Everything was different here. Peter was far away and David had become a properly distant husband. Finally I gave in and had a little cry. I knew I was behaving like a spoiled child, but I so wanted to go home and be with my husband and son and no intruding mothers in law and nannies, however well they meant. All my childhood I wanted to be genteel and middle class, and now that I was I found it miserable. I wished that I could sit beside David and hold his hand while he talked. I wished that I when I found him particularly handsome or sweet, I could kiss him freely. I wished that there weren't rules governing everything, even the bedroom when we were alone. I knew even without a lecture from my mother in law that a lady couldn't show passion, or shouldn't want to kiss her husband all over, and above all, she should want him, or think about lying with him. I tallied it up in my head—it was nearly a year since David and I had made love. We couldn't all while I was pregnant, and then we didn't after because Peter was so much to care for. I missed him. I missed the way he whispered to me, and his touch in a darkened room. I wanted him, however inappropriate it was, and the worst of it was that I knew I couldn't have him, certainly not here in the land of manners. I punched the pillow down and frowned, hating the rules that kept me from my family.

Eventually I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, the door opened and David slipped in, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. I pushed myself up on my elbow and shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Oh, Helen, I didn't mean to wake you dear," David whispered. I smiled at his tone. He sounded boyish, like a child at Christmas, and warm. More like himself than he had since our arrival.

I sat up a little and shook my head, watching him. He closed the door and began to undress in the moonlight. "I was having a bit of trouble sleeping," I murmured to him. He stumbled as he made his way over to his side of the bed and pulled out his pajamas. When he leaned over, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and I hid a giggle. "You've been drinking," I played at reproachfulness.

"A bit, maybe. The eggnog was very good. You must have some next year." He bit his lip as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

I got on my knees and shuffled over to the edge of the bed, helping him smoothly with the buttons. It was most improper, but David was just drunk enough not to care. "You should have snuck me a taste of yours," I said softly, pulling the tails of his shirt out of his trousers.

He stood very still, looking down at me for a long moment before he caressed my cheek roughly but tenderly. I closed my eyes to feel his caress. It felt so good to have my husband back again. I peeled his shirt off his shoulders and he raises his eyebrows when I caressed his shoulders with the very tips of my fingers.

Just as he was leaning forward to kiss me, there was a rap at the door. David cleared his throat and called "Yes?"

A muffled voice answered. "Mrs. Pevensie wanted to know if you needed anything, sir."

I pouted, thinking "Mrs. Pevensie wants to be left alone with her husband, if you please."

"No," David called back. I could tell from the heat of him that he was blushing. "We're fine, thank you."

The maid departed with a muffled call of "Happy Christmas." I turned back to David, but he was already managing getting into his pajamas himself. I stroked his hair and kissed it, and I laid down on my side, frowning back more tears. My body throbbed with stifled desire.

After a moment, he lay behind me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck once, warmly. I felt myself melt, and I turned to him at once. He hadn't buttoned his pajama top, and I stroked his chest with my fingers, biting on my lip. Then all at once he was kissing me, hard and urgently. I didn't wait for him to push me onto my back. I rolled myself and pulled him with me and I felt his warm weight on top of me.

I arched underneath him and whispered. "Your mother…" I wanted David very much, but I didn't like the thought of her somehow finding out how wanton I had been with her son.

He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes glittering merrily. "Then, my darling Helen, we shall just have to be silent, won't we?" He murmured.

And then we were moving together, slowly so as not to creak the bedsprings. Our gasps and sighs mingled with the soft rustling of the bedsheets. The moon went behind a cloud and I could hardly see. I could only feel the warmth of his body, his sweat rubbing against me. I could smell him, clean and sharp but also manly. I could smell his desire. And lastly there was his mouth, his warm red, eager mouth on my skin, on mine, silencing both our moans of pleasure. There, in the silent proper house on the well groomed street, I discovered the secret a good wife should never know.

_I look at Susan, so young and innocent with her hands wrapped around her cup. Her expression was quietly dreamy, and I wondered if she was replaying a goodnight kiss in her mind. The romance of it fills me up too, and I remember David that Christmas night, so tender. He doesn't say it often, but I learned then that he always loved me, underneath. And so I can read the codes in his letters. Caught in a reverie between my pretty daughter and my dear husband, I cannot resist leaning forward and cupping her cheek, thinking how from that sweet Christmas night came my sweet little girl. Susan is a silent child; she does not easily confess what's on her mind or what she's feeling, but I know that underneath she has a warm heart, full of tenderness for everyone. That is something she shares with her father, because, only those of us who know her well know this truly._


	3. The Problem Child

_A/N: I want to give a major shout-out to rooty-boots. She not only gave me the idea for this story, and therefore it is dedicated to her, but in this chapter she helped me enormously with the characterization of both David and especially Edmund. If my Edmund is any good it's really thanks to her. Peter has a touch of how he acted in the LWW movie--I always thought that was a good character choice, and true to the book, because it shows Peter as the would be leader who is very misdirected.  
_

* * *

The Problem Child

_I've known what I'm going to say. I practiced it for ages in my head, going over the words on the bus, in the never-ending queue at the shops. David has coached me in his letters. Now it comes down to it, and I have to say the words. My planned speech leaves me as I look at the four of them, watching me so expectantly. I wonder if they know what's coming. Surely they must._

_"Well, children," I begin, and then I have to clear my throat because my voice has gone shaky. I have to keep my voice even, stay strong. That is what mothers do, even when their hearts are breaking. "I'm afraid that we'll have to evacuate you to the country." In the end, there is nothing more to say than that._

_Peter says nothing. He only nods, and rests his hand on the back of Susan's chair. Susan murmurs in a quiet, almost-broken voice that is an echo of my own, "I'll help you pack." Lucy springs from her chair and hurls herself into my lap, crying already. "Oh, Mummy!" While I soothe her, I watch Edmund. He is still for a moment, then he gets up from the table with his book and goes to sit in his father's chair in the living room. He makes no sign that he has even heard what I said._

_"Ed!" Peter begins, but I lay a hand on his arm and shake my head. I watch him sitting there, more like his father than he knows. David never says anything when he's upset. He withdraws into himself, hiding behind his paper or puffing a cloud of smoke, and nothing can draw him out until he's ready. Though Edmund is sullen, almost disrespectful, I won't scold him._

_Peter, ever careful about behavior, protests. "But Mum—"_

_I shake his head and say quietly. "Leave him be, Peter." I kiss the crown of Lucy's sweet blonde head and pass her off to Peter. He is instantly distracted as I hoped, and comforts his sister in favor of schooling his brother. Susan leans over to help, stroking Lucy's back. As I get up and go into the living room, I can hear Peter murmuring "Don't worry, Lu. It won't be so bad. We'll all be together." His voice has been getting deeper lately, starting to change, but just now he still sounds like a little boy._

_Edmund is reading with a scowl on his face; I crouch by his chair quietly, touching his sleeve. "Edmund? There's still a piece of chocolate cake left, if you want it." Knowing this was the night when I would make the announcement, I scraped together the rations and managed to eke out a cake._

_"I'm not hungry," he answers, drawing his legs up and curling away from me._

_"Are you sure?" I twist my apron a bit. I want to hug him, but the food is the most affection he'd accept._

_He looks up from the book with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "Mum, please. I'm reading."_

_I nod rapidly, trying not to let tears sting my eyes. I tell myself it's just his way. I rise and reach out a hand to brush his hair back off his forehead, but I draw it back at the last moment, curling my fingers into a fist and digging my nails into my palm. He does not raise his eyes, and so I go into the kitchen to wash up, wishing David was here. He would know what to say to him._

_I make my way through the pots, scrubbing vigorously so that they shine like mirrors. Usually this gives me a glow of satisfaction to know that I can keep my home so nice, but tonight I only feel empty. After all, who am I keeping my house so nice for? My husband is away fighting and my children are going away for their protection. What's the point of clean pots if your house is blown to smithereens? I grab the next pot and scrub harder still to get out the bitterness rising up in me. I don't know much about this Adolf Hitler, but I hate him for tearing my family apart. When I was a child I saw a cousin's pictures of a trip to Germany and it looked so quaint, like a fairy tale, people in front of fanciful houses wearing lederhosen. I never imagined it would be a war machine of a country, that those dimpled, smiling people could bear so much malice towards me, when I have never seen them. I can't imagine that a little housewife like me is so different from their own mothers and wives, so I don't understand why they don't have any compassion. Why they lay the impossible choice before me: keep my children close and watch them die or send them away to be safe and break my heart._

_My train of thought is interrupted by a series of yells from the living room. Lucy is crying, and Susan's voice is sharp with remonstrance. Then she cries out in pain, and Peter rages. There is only one silent child, and I know he is the source of all the trouble. _

_By the time I turn off the taps and head into the living room, Edmund is already stomping up the stairs. "Edmund!" I cry in surprise. "What's happened?"_

_"Nothing!" he yells impudently._

_"Ed!" Peter bellows._

_This manages to stop Edmund. He turns and leans over the banister, his face nearly chalk white except for his bright red cheeks. "Shut up, Peter! Just shut up and stay out of it—for once!" Before Peter can reply he runs the rest of the way to his room and slams the door violently._

_Peter is fuming, and I have to say I find him quite alarming when he gets like this. He's so _big_ now, almost a man, and with enough anger for one. "That little—" he seethes. But Lucy give s a choked sob against Susan's shoulder, and he turns, his face clearing. He goes over to his sisters and rubs each of their arms. "It's alright. Don't worry." Susan gives him a grateful look._

_As I watch them, I can't help but feel bad for Edmund. Yes, he brings a lot of it on himself, but he's always the odd one out. Underneath the spikiness and the gruffness, there is a little boy who needs to be loved and is very scared of that. I know, because he's so much like his father._

_Thinking of David reminds me to be a parent, and I turn to the other three. "What happened?"_

_"Edmund hit Lucy," Susan begins._

_"I was trying to cheer him up!" Lucy sniffs. "Why does he have to be so mean?" _

_Susan hugs her tighter, shushing Lucy as she finishes off. "Then I went to stop him, and he hit me too."_

"_I don't know where he gets off—" Peter begins, his fists clenching. _

"_Peter, please," I sigh, and he subsides, still looking thunderous. I kiss Lucy and check her for bruises, and I touch Susan's cheek gratefully. "There's a cake, Susan, on the cake plate in the kitchen. Serve some up for the three of you, won't you?"_

"_What about you, Mum?" she asks, her eyes anxious._

"_I'll have some in a bit. I have to go and talk to Edmund first."_

_She nods, and shepherds Lucy into the dining room, tugging on Peter's sleeve to make him come. I sigh and look at David's chair. Edmund never acted like this when his father was around. Not this bad, anyway. He's always been given to bad temper, and he can be cranky quite frequently, but lately he seems to be lashing out more than usual. I don't know if it's the war, unhappiness at his father going away, chafing under Peter's leadership—Edmund is inscrutable. But then, David seems that way too. My friends don't understand him and his little rituals. My mother thinks him too high and mighty and too cold, but I see the affection behind his ways. Perhaps then I can find a way to understand the child who is most like him, just as David has an especial fondness for Susan, who is so much like me. I climb the stairs._

_Edmund is curled into an angry little ball on the bed, facing the wall. I want to scoop him up and cuddle him because he looks so brittle and breakable, but Edmund has never been one for cuddles, not even when he was a baby. I sigh a bit and perch on his bed, smoothing the sheets a bit with my hand. "Edmund, I need to talk to you," I say softly. I don't want to sound accusing._

_He punches the pillow and curls up tighter. "Go away."_

_At first his words sting, but then I realize that he's been crying. I shake my head. "I can't. You know that."_

"_Why not? You're sending us away, aren't you?" His voice is sharp and accusatory._

"_Is that what this is about?" I answer. "Evacuation?"_

"_You don't know anything about it." He punched the pillow. "I don't know what a fellow has to do to get a little peace around here."_

"_You can fool your sisters, Edmund, but you can't fool me," I tell him. My voice is wry, knowing. I'm not usually very smart, but I know my son._

_I reach out to rub his back in circles, like I used to when he was a colicky baby. Edmund has always been the most difficult of the children, subject to moodiness and tempers. Peter has always had a willful streak, but he also wants to be good very badly, so he is easily curbed. Edmund does not care much for reputation. Under my hand, I can feel Edmund tremble a little and sigh._

_My second son is always something of an enigma. Nobody can understand why he goes suddenly from mischief into thought, why he will gravitate near his brother and sisters only to lash out at them when the turn to include him. His teachers and headmaster send us notes almost weekly, and once, before he went away, David had to go up to the school to resolve an issue. Whenever Violet watches Edmund she has a litany of complaints. Mother always has a row with him, and Mother Pevensie despairs of his manners. No one stops to question why, no one wonders how he's feeling because he works so hard to push everyone away. But he's my boy; he always will be. I think he's lonely because he's misunderstood._

When Susan was born, I did not think it possible to be happier. She was so beautiful, and from the very first moment I laid her next to Peter, she curled into her brother, asking for his protection and his love. It went straight to my heart. David was pleased then too, and he often said that Susan was a pretty baby, which she was.

Peter and Susan were both very good babies, but good baby is a relative term. With every baby, no matter how good, there are nappies to change and messes to clean. Every baby needs to eat and every baby is sick and fusses. Peter and Susan just cried less than other babies, like their brother, and they got into less than other babies, like their sister.

At the beginning, when Susan was still tiny, everything was fine. She slept a lot, and Peter was a quiet one year old, crawling around the living room floor contentedly and napping peacefully. He was a cheerful baby too, and fascinated with his little sister. Our new house was small, but it fit all four of us comfortably. Mother would come round to visit and warned me "Things seem easy now, but they're bound to get harder," but Mother was a very dour person and I didn't believe her. Besides which, I remembered when Harold was a baby. He whinged almost constantly from birth until age two. My private belief was that my children were perfect, certainly better than Harold, and therefore I would encounter none of my mother's problems.

Then Susan started crawling. The two of them would go in exactly the opposite direction, and it was all I could do to find them, let alone keep up with them. I feared the stairs and everything in the kitchen, and once I had baby proofed one thing they would get into something else.

With the children everywhere and me chasing after them trying to keep them safe and clean up their messes, I hardly had time for my regular housework. Dust started to collect a bit on the bookshelves. David's shirts were hurriedly pressed, not perfectly ironed as they used to be, and more often than not it was sheer luck that I had dinner ready in time. Sometimes though I had to improvise with biscuits for dessert or leftovers or something store bought, because often I didn't have time to make anything, or the cake burnt.

Mother Pevensie came unexpectedly for tea one day, and I had a mad dash to find something to give her. The last drop of milk went into her tea; I drank mine black. Susan hauled herself up on her unsteady legs by leaning on my knee and some tea splashed on my skirt, which admittedly was already a little stained. Peter toddled around and explored everything at eye level, and I had to interrupt the conversation more than once to stop him from getting into a mess.

Mother Pevensie swiped a finger over the coffee table and looked at the vestiges of dirt with distaste. "Goodness, Helen. It looks as though you could use a little help."

I bristled, but I knew better than to appear cross with my mother in law. "I'm fine," I insisted stiffly, lifting Susan into my lap and wiping her face with a napkin. She was still cutting teeth and drooling from it.

"I wouldn't want my David to be uncomfortable," she persisted, still in her polished, polite tones.

"He's not," I returned a bit emphatically. I couldn't help it; her proprietary air over my husband grated on me, perhaps even more than her blatant misgivings about my abilities. Mother Pevensie raised her brows in doubt.

When she left, I cried for an hour. I was so worn out I didn't know what to do. I finally had to admit that I needed a bit of help, just enough to get me back on track, though I certainly wasn't going to take it from Mother Pevensie. In the end I enlisted Violet's help. She watched her son Harry, who was Peter's age, and my two while I cleaned the house top to bottom and made a lovely dessert. The next day after a few quick chores, I went round to hers to watch the babies while she cleaned. It was a perfect arrangement, and I felt quite the ingenious housewife.

Then one morning, Violet telephoned. "I'm sorry, Helen, but I can't come today." She sniffled, and I prayed something bad hadn't happened. Sometimes her husband drank and… "Harry and I both have colds. I think it's that everything's getting colder now," she continued, and I was grateful she interrupted my alarming train of thought. "Anyway, I thought it best to keep away until we're over it. I don't want you or the children getting sick." I looked over at Susan and Peter playing on the carpet. Sure enough, Susan coughed.

They both seemed to get sick at exactly the same time, and everything collapsed. The house quickly returned to a state of disorder as all my energy went into caring for two sick babies. No one gets as violently ill as small children. I would have been thoroughly disgusted if I weren't so alarmed and concerned for them. After 24 hours I feared they had the flu, so I bundled them into the pram and took them to the doctor. He confirmed that it might be a mild case, but there wasn't any real danger so long as I kept their temperatures down and made sure they drank enough.

That was a relief, but it did little to lessen the work. The house was still a state when we got home. Peter was so miserable he was whinging and whimpering, which he almost never did, and Susan could not stop crying. I managed to get them both into the bath, but even that was an ordeal. Peter was listless, his cheeks flushed as he cried pitifully, and Susan screamed with pain when I tried to put her in the water. Her temperature was so high the water must have felt freezing to her. I washed them carefully, my heart breaking for them. I was exhausted, but who else was there to take care of them?

I wrapped them both in big warm towels and dried them each one at a time, chattering softly and singing to them, the sort of nonsense mothers say to their children to make them feel better. It was all piggys and nursery rhymes and soft words, until finally they were quiet and I drew weak smiles from them both. I cuddled them close and kissed their damp heads. "Poor babies," I said gently. "We'll have you better soon." Peter whimpered and Susan cuddled close to me, winding her chubby little arm around my neck and laying her head on my shoulder.

I got Peter dressed, and he sat listlessly on the floor, winding his arm around my leg and sucking on his thumb. David usually remonstrated him for this, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and telling him big boys don't suck their thumbs. He had almost broken Peter of the habit, but Peter was feeling so miserable he sought solace in whatever he could. From time to time he coughed around his thumb.

Susan was limp and listless, and her color was off. When I finished dressing her, I lifted her in my arms and she moaned and sighed pitifully. I knew I couldn't put her down—I would just have to try to cook one handed. David would be home in just a bit and I had to invent something quick and serviceable for his dinner. Peter followed Susan and I into the kitchen, still looking pale and whimpering about his throat. He sat with his bear on the floor and watched us dolefully. As I fished in the ice box, I thought ruefully about the days when I was first married, when I planned a week's worth of meals with such pride, declaring my husband would never eat leftovers. Now I would have given anything for something I could just shove in the oven to warm up.

I fished out the mince I had managed to buy while out with the children at the doctor and set it on the counter, pondering it and dinner while rubbing Susan's back. She looked too, and then moaned fretfully "Mama…" I took one look at her and I knew what was coming. I got her away from the meat in time, but we didn't make it to the sink. She was sick all over herself and me and the floor.

As soon as Peter saw her sister get sick, he started to cry, strangled sobs which made him cry more because he hurt his throat. I prayed he wouldn't get sick and rushed Susan upstairs to the bath again. He followed slowly, lumbering up the stairs on his little two year old legs and crying forlornly, "Mummy…Mummy it hurts." Susan was still crying, and I tried to soothe them both.

I got Susan cleaned up and managed to spot clean my clothes, but I still smelled a bit of sick and needed a shower. However, I remembered there was a mess on the floor and I shepherded the children back downstairs to clean up. By this time I certainly wasn't hungry, nor was I really in the mood to cook. All I fancied was a hot shower and a lie down.

After I was done cleaning, Susan lifted her arms to be picked up again. I needed to work fast if I was going to have anything even half ready by the time David came home, but I couldn't resist her, sick and sad as she was. I rocked her a bit, singing softly, and Peter stood and wrapped his arms around my leg. A quick glance at the clock told me David would be home in less than half an hour, and I glanced helplessly at the meat on the counter. I sighed, wondering if I could cajole him into getting fish and chips supper. Maybe if I hid the meat so he didn't complain of the waste of money… Then I heard the key in the lock.

"Daddy's home!" I said with false brightness. In truth I was so relieved I could have cried. I could get him to sit with the children and have a shower, and we could see about fish and chips or some take away.

"Hello, dear," David said, coming into the kitchen as he loosened his tie. "I'm exhausted." He stretched out his hand, expecting the drink I usually fixed for him. When I stood there biting my lip and cuddling Susan, he seemed to wake up a bit and take in his surroundings. "What's all this then?"

"The children are sick," I explained softly.

He frowned and hmphed. Then he took off his jacket and headed to the living room. From the kitchen doorway I could see him settling himself in the chair and looking about. "Helen, where's the paper?" he called.

"I didn't have time to buy it. I had to take the children to the doctor."

"Hmpf," he said again. "Well, I'll get it myself after dinner." He sounded quite put out about this. "Is it nearly ready? I'm starved."

I hoisted Susan on my hip and said as bravely as I could. "There isn't any. Perhaps you could get some fish and chips?"

"No dinner?" David rose indignantly to face me. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't have time to make any!" I protested.

"Well, what else were you doing all day?" he demanded. "Honestly—a man slaves all day, the least he can expect is a hot meal when he comes home. I was poring over documents for the old man, and now there's nothing to eat? What am I supposed to do about that?"

Normally I would have cowed and apologized and offered to cook him something, but I was so tired and strained that I snapped right back. "I told you, David—the children were sick! I've been taking care of them all day."

"And what about me, hm? I thought a man's home was supposed to be his castle, not a playpen!"

As David raised his voice, Susan started to whimper, and I turned to shush her. Peter was watching with large eyes, still pressed against my leg. David took one look at me with the children and made a noise of disgust. "Right. I suppose I'll just have to get my own dinner then." He stalked back into the hall and grabbed his jacket and stuffed his hat on his head.

"Where are you going?" I asked querulously, following him.

"Out. To my mother's where a man knows he's appreciated," he answered, wrenching the door open. He slammed it viciously behind him.

I stared at the door for a long time, willing myself not to cry. I had two hungry children and an angry husband who was no help at all. I was nearly shaking with hurt and anger, but I stuffed it back inside and made some tinned soup and peas for the children. I didn't eat anything myself. I wasn't hungry.

Only when they were finally asleep did I sink down on the couch and let myself cry. I played over the whole scene in my head. David never yelled at me. I tried to be the best wife I could so that he would never have any cause for complaint. I did feel a sense of injustice that the one time I didn't have things ready, the one time I needed his help he had a strop and stormed out. The worst part was that he was seeking solace at his mother's, who was surely at this minute feeding him a rich dessert and 'tsking' about modern women. But I wasn't a modern woman. I wanted to be a good wife and a good mother, only the worst trick about doing that job well is making it look easy so no one, least of all David, would know how hard I worked. Going to his mother's—I felt betrayed, and I curled up on the couch and sobbed it out.

Hours later—or an hour later, I don't know how long it was—I heard the key in the lock. I sniffed and sat up, wiping my nose and eyes. David came in quietly and stood in the doorway with his hands behind his back.

"Did you go to your mother's?" I asked stiffly, though there was still a note of sad self pity in my voice.

"No. Just the pub down the road." That at least was some comfort. I nodded.

"Helen…" I looked up as he approached me. He held out a parcel wrapped in newspaper. "I got some chips with vinegar, just as you like them. And…" Blushing a bit, he withdrew a bunch of flowers.

As soon as I saw them I sprang from the couch and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Oh, David!" I cried, hiding my face in his neck as I felt more tears come. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to have dinner ready but the children are so ill."

He hugged me as best he could with two full hands. "It's alright, Helen dear. I'm…I'm sorry too. Now eat your chips, before they go cold."

I withdrew, sniffing gratefully, and took my dinner from him. We took it into the kitchen and he even put the flowers in water for me, then sat with me while I ate. He put his hand on my knee solicitously, and I thought they were the best chips I had ever tasted. Afterwards, we sat on the sofa together for a bit, and he held my hand and asked after the babies. I told him about my day, resting my head on his shoulder as I talked. He put his arm around me and patted my shoulder, and when I was done talking, he lifted my chin and kissed me.

"You have had a day," he said. "Let's go upstairs."

I curled my fingers around his shirt. "But it sounds as if you've had one too. Don't you want to talk?"

He shook his head. "Come on, dear. We'll go to bed." We stood together, and when I saw the look in his eyes I understood that he wasn't truly tired. He kissed me again, and I blushed. He never kissed me properly outside the bedroom anymore.

We went round together and shut the lights, and he half guided me upstairs. I fell into bed and his arms, warm with our comfortable passion and blissfully relaxing. I drifted off to sleep still in his arms, half confused by the change of mood that evening.

_And so I have Edmund, who is right now in a temper covering a great hurt. I want to comfort him, but I've learned I can force nothing on Edmund; he has to come round to things his way. I stroke his hair still, to let him know I'm there and that I'm not going away. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask._

_"There's nothing to talk about, is there?" His voice breaks and sounds bitter at the same time. "I don't have anything to say."_

_"I do. Will you listen?" He is silent, an assent. Edmund is the cleverest of all my children, and I'm not very clever really. I marvel that I can read him, but then he is so like his father. "The bombs come every night. You know it. One night we may not get to the shelter in time. Something, anything could happen to you. And if it did, your father would never forgive me. I could never forgive myself." I cup his cheek and turn him to look at me. "If you think that I won't miss you, then you're wrong. I'll miss you every minute. But I'll know that you're safe, that you're alive. You have to be safe. That's more important than me missing you right now."_

_He scrubs his eye with a clenched fist. "__Well, why don't you come too? If we're going to your friend's house, why don't you come too? Why do we have to go on our own?"_

_More than anything I want to go too. I want to stay with my children. The longest I've ever been apart from Edmund is when I went to the hospital to have Lucy. Other than that I've been with him every day of his life. "It's just not possible," I manage to say. "I have to stay here. I need to watch out for your grandparents—Granny Scrubb is too stubborn to go anywhere, and Grandma says her nerves won't survive a move. And I might have to get a job."_

_"Well, then you _need_ me to stay too. I can get a job. Let the others go," Edmund says with a frown. I try to stroke his hair, but he pushes my hand away._

_It is all I can do not to burst out crying. I can only shake my head and take my son in my arms. He stiffens, but after a moment he buries his head in my neck and rests his hands heavily on my back. I can feel his hot tears on my neck, and I rock him, kissing his temple._

_The moment does not last long enough. Eventually his hard shell comes back, just as the morning after that fight David was brisk as usual. But I have seen what is underneath, and I won't forget that momentary tenderness and trust in either of them. I will always know that underneath, they are good._


	4. Light

A/N: Here it is, folks--the last chapter of Conception. It's a long one, and one which I started even before I had begun Susan's chapter. It's been great fun to write, and I hope you don't mind the length of this chapter. I had it beta-d, but my beta said not to cut anything, so here you have the extended edition, if you will. By the way, if you have a chance, I would love a bit of feedback on "In the Ornamental Garden" even if you hate it.

* * *

_This is a long war. The Great War was longer, although this War is far from over. I am weary. I feel as though we have been fighting half a lifetime. I sent my children away as children, and they came back to me safe, but changed. We have tried to resume a normal pattern of life; they're even going off to school again, and I am getting letters home. Another sign of change: the letters are of a different nature. Edmund's comportment is completely different. He is no longer constantly in trouble; rather he is quiet and studious and receiving top marks in his year. His teachers write not to chastise him, but to tell me how bright he is. Peter is the one the masters complain about now. They declare him impertinent, sometimes even rebellious. But they are always so condescending when they write to me that I cannot help but feel I would be impertinent too. What's more, that's impossible to believe in my careful, well behaved, respectful son. Susan seems withdrawn and her schoolwork is suffering. Only Lucy is exactly as I would expect. Her teachers call her sociable but dreamy; sometimes inattentive but also very naturally intelligent. Even when offering criticism, her teachers sound pleased with her. This is no surprise: everyone loves Lucy. She brings joy wherever she goes._

_We all need a little joy right now. It has been a wet and dreary summer, and the war drags on and on. I can hardly make sense of the news every day, although Peter tries to explain to me. All I know is David is out there somewhere, and I don't know if I'll see him again. The other day Violet got the telegram, the dreaded telegram, and as soon as she read it she started shaking. It was a full minute before she could even cry._

_"It's funny," she choked sometime later, after I had fed her several cups of tea, one with a shot of whiskey in it, "I fell out of love with him years ago. But you get used to a husband, having him around, hearing him over on his side of the bed every night." She gave a watery smile and shook her head. "I can't believe I'll never see him again."_

_I was frightened then. What would happen to me, when I still loved David so much, when I sometimes took a pair of his pajamas to bed with me, just so I could have the warm smell of him near? The clothes can't still smell after more than a year, but I imagine they do._

_Violet added something else which rattled me. "I don't know how I'm going to take care of my family now. Really I don't. Can I get a job that will pay enough? Will it last even after the war is over?"_

_Since then I have been worrying. What will I do? Will Peter have to leave school? Will Susan? I so want them to finish. David would want them to finish. He believes in education…_

_I shake my head to rid myself of these thoughts. Today is a bad day; I am following dark paths because the weather is so dull and grey. That is why I've rounded up the children and roused us all into a bit of late spring cleaning. The boys are tackling all the handyman jobs David used to do while Susan, Lucy and I clean the house from top to bottom. We all need an afternoon's good hard work to tire us out. The children have been especially quiet since their return from summer term. They were already different after they got back from the professor's, but sending them away to school this time has reinforced the change it seems. I don't know what they've been through and I wish somehow I could know and share it with them. Earlier while Lucy and Edmund teased each other, laughing as they beat rugs in the back garden, Susan watched them and shook her head gravely, pressing her lips together. "Really," she murmured, "I don't see how they can laugh like that, after everything."_

_I jumped. Her words were so foreboding, and yet they were a glimpse of what I want to know, the hidden life they had. "What do you mean, dear?" I asked gently._

_Her head snapped around and she looked at me, almost as if she forgot I was there. Then her expression softened and she opened her mouth just a bit. Her face forecasted a confession, and I wanted to encourage her to it. Susan used to tell me all her secrets without any prompting, they would come out when I brushed her hair, or we did the washing up together. She hasn't talked to me like that in months, though. I tried not to look eager, but I felt myself leaning forward._

_"Never mind," she said at last, haltingly. "It's nothing."_

_Peter came into the room then and gave her a sympathetic look and our connection was lost as she turned to him._

_Now the house is quiet, the children in different corners doing chores. Susan is dusting and polishing in the hall; Peter is fixing a wobbly table in the kitchen while Edmund tightens the towel rod in the bathroom. Lucy, for her part, is sitting perched on the back of the couch with the silver chest on the cushions. She has been polishing the same fork for ten minutes, staring out the window at the rain. Her expression is so dreamy and distant that it prompts me to ask "Lucy, darling—is something wrong?" I ask her. Sometimes I get letters from her teachers that she is too dreamy; they worry she might be touched._

_"Hm?" She tears herself away from the window. "Oh, no Mum." She smiles at me, a little smile that grows until her dimples show. "I just have the feeling that something wonderful is going to happen today. Do you ever have that feeling?"_

_I shake my head and come over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "No, dear." I wish that I did, though. I need to feel it._

_She slides off the couch and comes over to me, taking my hand. "Dad's coming home, Mum. I know he is."_

_I put my hand on her shoulder and gaze down at her. Her face is shining not just with hope, but with certainty. My daughter is so pretty when her face lights up like this; it is impossible to resist a smile._

_"That's our Lucy," Susan says from the doorway, her eyes soft as they light on her sister. _

_Peter is at her shoulder, and he nods. "And she has yet to be wrong."_

_Lucy beams at them. "I was telling Mum that I know something good is going to happen. Something to make us happy. I can feel it in my bones."_

_They nod, wanting to believe her, but I see the doubt in their eyes too. Edmund comes downstairs then, humming a song I don't know and in remarkably good spirits. He winks at Lucy and then looks around. "What's the matter with you lot? You act as though somebody's died."_

_I feel dizzy remembering Violet's grief, and I feel myself reel a step or two. "Ed!" Susan cries at once, as Peter reaches out to steady me. "Don't say such things!"_

_Edmund rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Su. Didn't you hear what Lucy said?"_

_Susan purses her lips. I nod to Peter that I'm alright and he lets me go, but hovers near._

"_Even so," Peter murmurs, his brow tense._

_Lucy goes over to Edmund and squeezes his hand. He winks at her, and they go over to sit on the couch. She offers him a cloth and together they polish the silver._

_No one says any more, except that after a few minutes Peter calls for Edmund's help. I watch Susan, whose face is unreadable, her eyes lowered and her lips unmoving. Still I can feel the doubt and the worry radiating from her, the same feelings which churn through me. I gravitate towards her and we comfort each other. If the worst should happen, I know I'll have Susan to count on._

_Lucy's expression does not change. Even though she sits alone, she polishes the silver dreamily. I marvel at her relentless hope, the light in her which never flickers. I cannot remember a day where she didn't smile at least once. I think back to when I was first married, when I woke up certain that each day was going to be better than the one before. I don't feel that way anymore. Each day I wake up worrying that everything in my beautiful life is going to be snatched away forever. Losing my children for months, holding on to David through letters and memories…everything makes it harder to believe. One day the doorbell will ring and it will be the telegram I've been dreading. I bite my lip, wondering if it's possible to get that back ever. I can't help but think that Lucy is merely expecting the moment when the doorbell rings and her father is standing on the step, injured slightly perhaps but otherwise not much worse for the wear._

_Then the doorbell rings._

_Peter and Edmund come out from the kitchen. We all freeze, staring at each other. It rings again, and Peter jolts to life, going to answer the door. I reach out and grip Susan's hand. Lucy slides of the couch and goes to peer in the hall, smiling already._

_Peter exclaims with surprise, and Lucy gives a cry of joy and then I hear his voice. I can't believe it, but a second later, there he is, walking on a crutch. I want to laugh and sob and run to him and run and hide all at once, and my vision goes blurry. I hear Edmund cry "Hi, Mum!" as my knees buckle._

_The next thing I know for certain I am sitting on David's chair, perched on his knee. I look at him with wide eyed amazement, and he chuckles. "Helen, darling! So overcome you can't even speak!" I shake my head, and he says simply, "Susan, go put on the tea. I think your mother could do with a brew" just as if he's never even left. I cannot believe it. I touch his face over and over again. Even though we are in front of the children, I kiss him. I think a wife has a right in such a moment._

_Lucy kneels by her father's chair, leaning on her arm, and David pats her hair. I look at her blue eyes, so wide and innocent and certain of happiness, and I think it is only right that she came to me from a place drenched in sunshine._

Summer that year started in May. Overnight, the weather went from brisk and chilly so that I was fitting too-small jumpers on the children, to blazing hot. Everyone declared it was the hottest summer they had seen in years, and if this was only May, what would June, July and August be like? I soon discovered that it was nothing but three sticky babies in a stuffy house. Peter was restless, Susan listless, and Edmund querulous. They all seemed to need something different at exactly the same moment, not to mention David, who came home from his even stuffier office tired and crabby. All I wanted to do was lie on the couch sipping cold lemonade, but I had to run around trying to make four very hot people comfortable.

Even so, when David announced at dinner one night that he would be going down to Portsmouth to do research with the Professor, I couldn't hide my dismay. I needed David around. Perhaps he was in a poor temper, but he could sit with Susan while she lay on the couch listening placidly to the wireless as she sucked her thumb and restrain Peter's exuberance while I wrangled with Edmund. I didn't quite know how I would cope without him.

"But—" I started to protest, distractedly trying to feed Edmund some peas.

David shook his head resolutely at my protest, Edmund at his peas. "No buts, my dear. If I do this, I'll be that much closer to being promoted when the old man retires. If you want that bigger house, it's got to be done."

There was no arguing with this. Our house was still bigger than our one bedroom honeymoon flat, but that was the only thing it outsized. There were only two bedrooms; Edmund's cot was jammed into our room, and Peter and Susan's room was so small that I couldn't open the door all the way because it knocked into Peter's bed. Everyone had to sidle into the room. Furthermore, Susan was only going to get bigger, and soon she would need her own room apart from the boys. I had to accept David's parting for hope of his advancement. I couldn't really argue anyway; as his wife I had to support him. I did dismay a bit at the thought of managing everything by myself though.

The night before David left was thick and steamy. None of the children wanted to be cuddled, and when I checked on them, both Peter and Edmund had kicked off the covers and were lying spread-eagle. Only Susan remained decorously huddled under the covers. Despite the heat, I wanted to say goodbye to David properly, so I perched resolutely on the ottoman and lifted his food into my lap to rub.

He chuckled and leaned forward to pat my head affectionately. "You're a wonder, Helen. It's too hot to even breathe. Be a dear and run me a bath."

So we spent our last night together lying chastely side by side. It took me a long time to drop off. I could hear the lulling rhythm of David's breathing in time with Edmund's, but I kept reminding myself that I wouldn't hear it the next night.

Mother arrived the next day to watch the children while I saw David off. She was meant to watch all of them, but Edmund threw an almighty tantrum and we had to take him along. Though he was still tiny, scarcely a year old, I was sure he was aware that separation was imminent, and he was not pleased. When I shared this with Mother, she said I made too much of the boy, but I remained firm in my conviction of Edmund's perceptiveness.

Since David was going to be late, we took Edmund with us. We were both sorry to see him go. We stood on the train platform, I with Edmund on my hip, and he grizzled anxiously, grabbing for his father's tie.

"No, no, Edmund," I chided soberly, smoothing David's tie with extra care. "Wire us from Portsmouth to let us know you've arrived," I reminded him.

"I will dear." He was half paying attention, one ear cocked for the all aboard call.

I let my fingers dawdle on his chest. "And telephone me," I continued. I was trying to think of things to say to detain him just that moment longer.

"Of course I will." He paused as he caught my sober expression. "What's the matter, Helen?"

"I don't want you to go away," I whispered bashfully.

"I have to. We've been through this." I could hear the impatience in his voice.

"I know. I know," I said hurriedly. "It's just that—"

"That?" he prompted.

"You've never gone away before," I murmured. "Not even when we were courting. I shall miss you." I bit my lip and hoisted Edmund on my hip.

He regarded me a moment, and then he cupped my cheek. "You soft thing," he said affectionately. "It won't be so bad as all that."

Privately I disagreed, but I let him kiss me and feel as though he had made things better. As soon as he disappeared onto the train, Edmund began to howl disconsolately. I cuddled him and soothed "It's alright, sweetheart. Daddy will be back soon." But I was frowning back tears of my own.

0ooooo0

Without David, things were as dreary as I feared. There was no one to talk to, no breath of fresh air at the end of the day when David would come home and change the atmosphere. It was almost worse when he phoned. Hearing his voice so close made me think he was just at the office and would be home in the evening. The children couldn't talk to him long enough. Even Edmund whined urgently to clasp the phone to his ear and say "Dada." Sadly, David had never been one for children's chatter and he never spoke with them long.

Mother came by to help me with the children, but she had never been very cheerful company. Sometimes Harold came by to do his duty with his new bride Alberta. Alberta was exactly like Harold, which meant I didn't like her very much. She was stuffy and fussy, and she always looked down her nose at the children.

In a magnanimous fit, Harold took us all out to Hyde Park for a row on the Serpentine. It was a nightmare. Susan spilled ice cream down her front and clung to me with embarrassment so that both of us got sticky. In his eagerness to explore and be outside, Peter managed to get covered in dirt, and he kept running back and forth in search of dubious treasures for Edmund and Susan. Susan refused to part with anything Peter found for her, and Peter would not be discouraged.

"Really, Helen, you ought to put a stop to this," Alberta said, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she shook the dirt off a weed Peter had pulled up. Susan smiled at her present and reached out a sticky hand to touch it. Alberta yanked the mangled flower out of her reach as a reflex. In reply, Susan shied further against me, clinging to my skirt.

"They're only children," I replied, frowning.

She scoffed. "All the more reason they should be taught. Look at this." She fretted her fingers together to rid them of dirt and stickiness. "Disgusting."

Susan tugged on my skirt and stood on tiptoe, cupping her hands around her mouth. I bent so she could whisper in my ear. "Mummy, am I disgusting?" she asked anxiously, repeating the long word slowly.

"No, my dove," I returned, kissing her sticky cheek. "You're as pretty as a fairy princess." She reached her arms up and though she was three years old, I slung her onto my hip and kissed her.

"Alberta," I said stiffly, "I'll thank you not to insult my children."

"Come, Helen. The world should not be sugar coated," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"There's a difference between truth and insults!" I retorted angrily.

Our argument was cut short as Peter returned, accompanying Harold pushing the pram. Edmund was sitting up in it, his face red and blotchy. He was wailing with misery. I could see at once that nothing was wrong with him, he was just in a poor temper. When she saw him, Susan leaned over in my arms to touch his chubby little arm, shushing him sweetly. "Don't cry," she murmured. "Don't cry, Eddie."

I put her down and lifted Edmund out of his pram. Susan orbited to Peter and held his hand, sliding her thumb into her mouth. Edmund continued to wail.

Peter spoke up as the ambassador. "Is Edmund alright, Mummy?"

"He's fine," I assured them, "only a bit hot and tired." Harold looked so frazzled at nothing more than a little tantrum that I rolled my eyes.

"Ugh," Alberta scoffed, curling her lip as she regarded Edmund warily. "Do make him be quiet, Helen. The noise is awful and people are staring."

I set my jaw, grinding my teeth. "Let them stare. He's only a baby." I jigged Edmund and crooned to him, trying to forget my anger with Alberta. That proved next to impossible.

"You know, Harold," Alberta said nastily, "I almost think we should have a baby so we could raise it properly."

"Good luck to the baby then with a mother like you!" I snapped. I didn't even wait for a retort. I stalked away, calling over my shoulder, "Come, Peter, Susan. Bring the pram."

By the time we got to Marble Arch, my anger had evaporated, and I realized I was in a bit of a jam. Peter and Susan were exhausted. Even Edmund had subsided, grizzling unhappily while clutching his teddy bear. I bought the children a lemon ice from a vendor while I puzzled how to get them home. I didn't have enough for a taxi all the way to Finchley, and the prospect of taking three small children on the stifling Underground was too daunting to ponder. But Susan laid her head on my arm and said so pitifully "Mummy, I want to go home," that I knew I had to do something. I mustered up enough energy to fake it and gathered up the children. I got them down Oxford Street by making it seem quite the grand and thrilling adventure, and we boarded a bus. Peter told stories to Susan and Edmund all the way home, and the villains and witches all seemed an awful lot like Harold and Alberta.

When at last we arrived home, I ran a cold bath and dumped all three children in the tub. Susan gasped and shivered with delight when I pour the cold water over her head. "That feels good, Mummy," she breathed.

"Doesn't it? I wonder if Daddy is bathing at the seashore."

"Yes, I think he is," Peter said vaguely but knowledgeably as he tried to pry a smile from Edmund. Edmund was pouting stubbornly, trying to shy away from Peter's tickling finger, but his eyes were sparkling with unmistakable merriment.

At that moment the phone rang, and after giving strict instructions to Peter to watch the other two, I ran to answer it.

"Hello dear," David said on the other end of the line, sounding extraordinarily cheerful. "How've you been?"

I could hardly check my tears, it was such a comfort to hear his voice. "Oh David," I said, "It's been such a day!" I started to explain, but I had barely formed a syllable when he cut me off.

"Don't worry dear, things are looking up. How would you like to come to the seashore?"

"What?" I stammered tearfully, wiping my cheeks.

"Yes, it's lovely here," he continued blithely. "Quite lovely. The Professor said there's enough room, and he suggested you and the children might like a break from London."

I watched my expression change in the hall glass. From worn and unhappy, I turned girlish again as a smile bloomed on my face. "Yes, we would," I said, trying not to shout my excitement. "Very much."

0oooo0

The next morning I gathered three children, a pram, and a small mountain of bags and made my way to the train station. It was a daunting task, especially as all three were wriggling with uncontainable excitement, but I would not be deterred.

The train station was crowded, and that made me a bit nervous. The children were too small to navigate anything, let alone read and ask their way. I feared Peter or Susan would disappear as if into thin air. Edmund I stuffed into his pram, though he howled at the indignity. Edmund hated riding in his pram; I suppose because he wanted to be treated as bigger, like Peter and Susan. Because I was ignoring his complaints, he hurled his bear onto the platform where it was quickly swallowed by the bustling crowd.

"Mr. Boyd!" Susan gasped as Edmund, realizing he had cut off his nose to spite his face, began to cry in earnest.

I felt bad for Edmund certainly; he slept with his bear every night and would never be parted from it, not since Peter had stuffed the toy of his babyhood through the bars of his brother's crib. But there was nothing to be done. The porter was already helping us on the train and we were set to depart at any moment. I tried to soothe Edmund, and when I turned to him, Peter slipped away.

"I'll get it!" he cried. I choked on my shout of warning as he was swallowed by the crowd. In the end it was Susan who shouted "Peter!" I looked at her and saw her face was white.

I didn't know what to do. Should I call the police? Run after him? Grab the porter by his lapels and demand he find my son? In the end, my indecision froze me, and I could only stare helplessly into the crowd. Susan clung to my hand and cried in a thin voice, "Peter, come back!"

"All aboard!" the conductor called.

That sprung the catch on my voice. "No! My son! Peter! Peter!" I scanned the crowd desperately.

The conductor came by and said cheerily "All aboard, Ma'am."

"Peter!" I screamed again, ignoring him. I gripped Susan's hand painfully tight, and my knuckles on the handle of Edmund's pram were white.

Then, miraculously, the crowd parted and there was Peter, tousled and smiling and waving Mr. Boyd. "I found him, Ed, don't worry!"

Before I could remonstrate him, Susan broke free and ran to Peter, striking him on the arm as I was about to do. "You are very bad!" she cried. "Never run away from me again!"

Peter looked bewildered, blinking in surprise as she struck him. He turned to me and saw the disappointment in my face, and he hung his head as he stepped past me to hand the bear to Edmund, who was clutching jealously for his toy.

I knew he was already contrite, but I lectured him all while we settled into our compartment. I couldn't stop myself; I needed a vent for all the worry and all the fear of losing my golden haired son. I culminated with "Just wait until your father hears about this." Peter stiffened and looked up at me with pleading eyes, but he said nothing and turned away after a moment. Susan clung to me and remained silent.

Perversely, or perhaps not so perversely since Peter had returned Mr. Boyd, Edmund wanted to sit with his brother. If I tried to keep him by me, he whinged and fussed, but next to Peter he was perfectly content, hitting his brother with the bear when he was looking the other way and then raising his brows when Peter turned. Peter would reply with a thin smile which grew warmer with each pass until finally he grinned and pounced on Edmund, tickling him until his brother shouted with baby laughter, flailing his bear. Eventually Susan relaxed her hold on me and drew her thumb out of her mouth and went over to join in the fun. I listened to their play and watched the countryside flicker by. As I listened to their laughter, the panic and my resulting anger with Peter slowly melted out of me. I reflected that if I told David, Peter would certainly be punished. I didn't want his holiday spoiled. When they took a gasping pause, I called him over, patting the seat next to me.

Peter became dutifully contrite at once. "Yes, Mummy?" he asked, looking up at me with doleful eyes. I could hardly resist him. I wanted to cuddle him and tell him it was alright, but I reminded myself that my discipline would be far gentler than David's, and so I persevered. "You know what you did was very naughty," I said in my stern mother tone. Hearing myself talk like that always made a perverse part of me want to giggle. I wondered that the children took me so seriously.

He nodded silently, his blue eyes round and grave.

"Do you know why?" I pressed.

Susan was watching him now with her thumb in her mouth. The expression in her eyes matched Peter's. He glanced at her, then back at me. "We don't run off," he intoned. Edmund chose that moment to wave his bear.

"No we don't," I affirmed, still in my stern mother voice. Really it was just a poor imitation of David's disciplinary tone. "And will you do it again?"

He shook his head solemnly. After a moment he added uncertainly, "Mummy, will Daddy be very angry?"

Susan looked ready to cry at this thought; she hated to see Peter in trouble. I gathered her into my lap. "Well, if you are going to be a very good boy, then perhaps we won't have to tell Daddy."

Relief flooded Peter's face. "I'll be the goodest, Mummy, I promise." I couldn't help but kiss his golden hair, even though a nagging voice told me this was why David thought me far too indulgent.

I knew I had made the right decision though when we saw David at the train station. Susan bolted straight for him, and he swung her in the air with a warm "Hello, Princess." She giggled and kissed his cheeks charmingly. Edmund strained for his father, making urgent noises. Without complaint, David took Edmund with his other arm, holding two of his children at once, laughing as they squealed and cuddled him. After a moment, Peter went forward too and smiled up at his father.

For a moment I merely watched the tableau of David with his children. I admired the familiar crispness of his suit, the neatness of his moustache despite the heat. I had been so used to feeling David's absence that I was rather stunned by his presence. I hung back, simply drinking him in.

When he came and kissed me and said "Hello, dear," I blushed and felt the tingle I had as a bashful girl courting.

The beachside holiday was like a trip to another world. Instead of lying indoors with all the shutters closed, trying to keep cool in the dark, we played on the dazzling beach by the sparkling water. There was always a breeze which smelled of the briny sea, not a murky stir of dirty air, and the water was crisp and cold.

I felt something changing within me as well. I remembered that though I had been married five years I was only twenty three after all. I indulged in a new bathing costume which didn't look so old and fussy and which Susan swore made me look like a mermaid princess. I had fun playing at being fashionable, but of course there were women far more a la mode than myself. That didn't really matter, for smart as their clothes were, none of them had children as charming as mine. They were too prim to smile.

David was still working hard, and after that first night where we went out for dinner at a restaurant on the promenade, he was back to his usual grind in a different location. It put him in a much better mood, though, and when he got ready for work in the morning he whistled as he knotted his tie.

I hardly knew what to do with myself. We were staying at a boarding house, and so I didn't have to do any cooking, and as the maid came in every day, all I had to do was tidy our things. There was nothing to do but mind the children and divert myself.

The first day I was unaccustomed to it, and when I brought the children down to the beach I also brought several of David's shirts to mend. He was impatient with buttons, and they often came off. As I wasn't around to fix the shirts as this happened, there was a little stockpile, and I figured a little sea air wouldn't hurt the shirts before they were laundered.

Once I was on the beach though, I found no inclination to sew. The sky was too blue, the sea too green, the children too diverting. Near me on the blanket, Edmund was fascinated with sand. He picked up handfuls and let it run through his fingers, his dark eyes widening in studious excitement. I had forgotten that he hadn't seen sand yet, and it was wonderful to see him discover something. As much as I had admired the glittering golden stretch of beach, I thought that I hadn't really appreciated it until I saw it through Edmund's eyes, listened to his soft cooing of incredulity. I rubbed his little back, and that did not distract him one bit.

"It appears you have a little professor on your hands there," a voice said.

I was rather used to strangers commenting on my children; Susan was so beautiful and Peter so well mannered that people often stopped to comment. So I laughed and agreed, "It appears so." Then I looked up, shading my eyes against the sun, and when I saw who it was I started to my feet. "Oh! Professor Kirke!"

"No, no dear, don't get up," he said. He gestured to the blanket courteously. "May I join you?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed at a bit higher pitch than usual. I wasn't at all prepared to sit with David's boss, especially when David spoke frequently about how important it was to impress him. I moved over for him, trying to be as accommodating as possible.

He sat down slowly, with a grunt. "Ahh, these old bones aren't what they used to be."

I smiled, sorry that I had nothing to offer him. Frowning with concentration, Edmund waved a fistful of sand, and the professor chuckled, holding out his hand. Edmund deposited the sand in the Professor's open palm. When the task was done, he leaned back and, rarely for him, he grinned. The Professor made a game of putting the sand in his pocket, and Edmund giggled.

I was about to open my mouth to make conversation and try and impress him when Susan came running up, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Peter was a couple of paces behind her. "Mummy! Mummy! Look what Peter found me!" Unlike that day in Hyde Park, Peter's treasure for his sister this time was truly lovely, a delicate, pearly pink shell. I cooed over it. "That's _lovely_, Susan," I said with motherly enthusiasm.

She hugged it to her chest, beaming while Peter stood at her shoulder and blushed. "I love it," Susan declared enthusiastically. "I will keep it forever and ever."

I smiled indulgently. "Well, how about this?" I held my hand out for the shell, which she surrendered trustingly. With the point of my sewing scissors, I drilled a little hole in the shell and then strung it with a length of thread, making a little necklace for Susan. "Now you can wear it always."

Susan gasped with delight as I fastened it around her neck. "It's so pretty! Look, Peter!"

Still blushing, Peter silently nodded his approval. While Susan admired her new necklace, Peter noticed the Professor sitting there and he nodded like a little gentleman. "Hello, sir," he said.

"Peter, Susan, this is Daddy's boss, Professor Kirke," I informed them.

Peter shook hands with the professor even though he was only four years old. Susan looked up from her little rhapsody and saw him for the first time. She shied behind Peter and lisped, "Hello."

The Professor chuckled with delight at Peter's handshake and smiled kindly at Susan. He proceeded to win her over a little by pulling a half penny from behind her ear. He produced another half penny for Peter, and I sent them both running to the ice cream cart that was trundling by.

"You have very charming children," the Professor commented. "David always brags about his children, but I thought he was only like most parents. People can overestimate their children you know." I laughed a bit in spite of myself. "But I don't think that's the case with yours. Don't you feel they're extraordinary?"

I hated to boast, so I demurred with "Oh, every mother thinks her children are extraordinary." I watched Peter help Susan unwrap her ice cream and Susan wipe ice cream off Peter's chin. He fixed me with a look, and I couldn't help but confess my secret pride in my children. "David and I reckon that Edmund's quite smart. He hasn't really begun talking yet, but I know he understands. And Peter is so good—he always wants to help everyone, and he always wants to do the right thing. And Susan is so sweet. She's shy, but she loves the whole world." I subsided, blushing furiously.

"I hope you don't mind me saying so, Mrs. Pevensie, but I've something of a sense about these things. I think your children are destined for something great."

I turned to him quickly, keeping Edmund from crawling away even while my eyes were fixed on the Professor. I was too amazed to politely deny him. "Do you really think so?"

He nodded. "Oh yes, I'm quite sure. I had a feeling in my bones even hearing about them—David is not generally an effusive man, you see, so I found it odd that he should talk about his children so—but now that I see them I'm quite sure. Tell me—did you ever think of having any more?"

I blinked in surprise at his rather personal question, but something compelled me to answer. "Well, I'll gladly welcome any child God sends us."

He winked. "A girl, I think. A Daughter of Eve."

"Daughter of Eve?" I repeated, bewildered. I had no idea what he could possibly mean.

"Yes…two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve. I just discovered—they're waiting for them."

My heart started to beat faster. "Who is? Where?"

Just at that moment, Peter and Susan reached us. There were a few noisy, messy minutes where they ate their ice cream and tried to share with Edmund, who was very eager. The Professor was kind enough to help with them, and I was surprised that Edmund didn't start wailing and Susan came out of her shy shell a bit. Eventually Edmund curled up for a nap while Peter and Susan went to the water's edge to race away from the waves. I could hear Peter making up the rules of the game. "These are the hands of the witch," he was saying, indicating the waves creeping up the beach after crashing on the shore. "If she touches you, she will take you away forever and ever!"

Susan covered her mouth and gasped; she always bought into Peter's games wholesale. A wave came up near her and she shrieked, running away. Peter pretended to draw an imaginary sword and cried "Don't worry, Princess, I'll save you!" and he splashed around in the quarter inch of water.

"I'm glad we got to talk, Mrs. Pevensie," the Professor said, getting to his feet. "You mustn't mind if I say anything strange. A lot going on, you know." He tapped his head. "I am glad you could come and join us. When David said you were shut up in London during such a hot summer, I couldn't bear the thought. And there's more than enough room at the boarding house."

"It's been so lovely," I said. "Thank you."

"Not at all, not at all," he returned. Then he was wandering his way back. I watched his retreating form for a few minutes. Then Peter and Susan drew my attention, and I watched them playing in the sand. They were so young and blithe, still babies. Would they really grow up to be extraordinary? My children? It was a humbling thought. I was just plain Helen Pevensie, nee Scrubb. I never considered that they might be better than their father's staunchly middle class family. But maybe…maybe. With the sea air so fresh on my cheeks and the vast sky above me and the glittering water, anything seemed possible. A fourth child, children who grew up to be great people. Like a mirage, I looked at Peter and Susan playing and I could almost see them as adults, walking along a beach, together still. Susan was grown tall and beautiful, but she was still the gentle girl I knew now. Peter was strong and brave, like the knights in stories he so admired. I allowed my secret little hope to turn into a prayer that they would have everything, be everything.

0oooo0

We went back to the beach again the next day, only this time the children coaxed me to the water's edge. They held Edmund's hands and helped him to splash in the surf on his unsteady legs. When he fell with a wet plop into the sand they all three of them burst out laughing, and Peter and Edmund made a game of chasing Susan and me. Susan's little body was tight with the thrill of the game. She always bought easily into the fantasies that Peter wove for her, and now she shrieked and pulled me along, crying "Hurry, Mummy! We have to run!"

As we ran shrieking down the beach, I looked over my shoulder to make sure the boys were alright. As I did this, I ran smack into someone. Peter and Edmund started giggling, but I turned to apologize, feeling flustered. "I'm so sorry!" I gasped before looking up.

"And well you should be," a familiar voice answered. I looked up and found David smiling down at me. "You ought to watch where you're going."

"David!" I cried, swatting him playfully. The children laughed even harder. I bit my lip and reached up to touch his cheek very lightly. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "The Professor said I ought to take the afternoon off and spend it with you and the children."

"Really?" I couldn't help but grin. A day at the seashore and David in the middle of the day? It was all too perfect. Seeing my smile, he allowed himself a moment of expressiveness and twirled me around, grinning.

"Yes really," he said, and then he dove after the boys, scooping Edmund up to his delight.

We spent the afternoon frolicking in the sand. David took each of the children out into the water in turn, and they came back to me with their teeth chattering while I wrapped them in blankets. This didn't prevent them from wanting ice creams, which David magnanimously bought. He was different that day; smiling and happy and for once, carefree. It was all I could do not to cup his face in my hands and kiss him.

I saved that for that evening, when all the children were in bed and he was standing at the window looking out at the moon over the sea. As I drew away from the kiss, I murmured, "Thank you for a wonderful day. The children were so happy, David."

"Alright you soft old thing," he said, rubbing the small of my back. I crept closer and rested my head on his shoulder as I wrapped my arms around him.

"I'm happy here," I announced. "I like having the sea, and you. Let's never go back to London."

He chuckled. "I would if it were possible, but there's no university here."

"Imagine if there was, though. We could have a little terrace looking out over the beach, and the children could play in the sand, and sometimes we could take walks together, just the two of us…"

He kissed my forehead. "You paint quite the picture, dear," he murmured. "You're almost as good as the Professor and his relics."

I tilted my head to look up at him, resting my chin on his chest. "What do you mean?"

"He's always on the hunt for these artifacts from a lost civilization. I've never heard of it before, and he doesn't say a lot about it, but sometimes he describes the place. It sounds idyllic."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful? Our own private world," I sighed. I reached up and combed my fingers through his hair. "That's just what I want."

He kissed me lightly, his moustache tickling my lips. "I had no idea you were such an idealist," he said with a little laugh.

I shrugged and kissed him in return. "Perhaps a bit," I said with a warm smile.

I could see from his face that he found my look winning. He bent his head and gave me a longer kiss, and I folded myself to him. After a moment, he drew away and patted my backside. "Time for bed, you," he said, but there was a familiar sparkle in his eye.

Somehow, lovemaking that night didn't seem grave and serious. I felt light, as though the cool sea breeze wafting in could carry me away. David smiled, and he chuckled softly with his pleasure. I had to do my best to repress a giggle of joy. And afterwards, when he was snoring gently, I lay in bed and stared out at the moon daydreaming of a better life for us and for the children.

_And so Lucy came from that sun drenched week by the sea. She always carried that sunlight with her, that wild, free hope that could not be restrained, that laughter. Even now, when I could break down crying at the sight of David in his chair I'm so relieved, she is laughing. She sits at her father's feet and tells him story after little story and smiles up into his face and he, exhausted as he is, finds a smile for her. Everyone has a smile for Lucy eventually, for she carries the torch. She can see what we can't. I bend to kiss her bright blonde hair, thinking how very like sunshine it is._


End file.
